


Lavellan is Bored

by composewithcolour



Series: Nobody Expects The.... [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:59:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/composewithcolour/pseuds/composewithcolour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ellana Lavellan finds herself stuck at Skyhold, under the watchful eye of her advisers, she desperately seeks entertainment among her different companions. Being only nineteen years old, the pressures of being the Inquisitor weigh up as well as the judgments of everyone else, but it will never stop her embracing her role.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first ever fan fic. I wrote this around a year ago and have written a few other things since. Hope you enjoy!

Lavellan stared at him across the table, “ _Solas_?” she ventured to speak. The elf bared her no thought, not even lifting his gaze from the books spread across his desk.

“ _Sooolasss_ ,” she said a little louder this time, drawing out the syllables in a bid for his attention. Nothing.

She was sat in a high backed chair, set to the right of where he sat, but even her close proximity seemed to mean nothing whilst he was focused so. Lavellan slowly lifted her bare foot, her vallasiln twisting down past her ankle and between her toes, and ever so gently, she nudged his knee with her big toe. Twice. And once again, when he was yet to respond.

“ _Solas_! Look at me!” she whined, now tapping her foot up and down on his leg.

 His hand whipped out and grabbed her foot, causing her to yelp in surprise and slide down in her seat.

“ _Da’len!_ I am trying to concentrate,” he said quietly, his usual stoic appearance now disturbed by the annoyance pulling at his features. He pushed away her foot and Lavellan quickly pulled back, sitting up in the giant chair.

With a fiery vengeance glowing in her eyes, she glared at him, her upper lip curling as if he’d insulted her mother.

“I’m bored,” she stated.

“Then, you have less work to do than I, congratulations. But as I am yet to be bored and find myself inundated with requests from your advisors, I suggest you either offer some assistance, or go and bother someone else!”

She wrinkled her nose at him, not that he was looking at her to notice. This wasn’t the response she’d been hoping for in the slightest…nor was it anything less than she’d expected. With an overdramatic sigh, she climbed out of her chair and wandered around to his side, bending slightly over his shoulder to look at the books he was staring at so intensely. The language in them made little to no sense to her.

“Surely,” she started, causing him to flinch ever so slightly, “ignoring me is a lot more effort than humouring me?”

His lips pressed tightly together, “You would think.”

With another deep sigh, she pushed away from him, walking over to the great painting on the walls of his rotunda instead. A curiosity took over her as she picked up one of his paintbrushes, running her thumb over the soft bristles. She had just lifted the brush, a deep red paint on the tip ready to touch a bare portion of the wall when,

“ _No_.”

“But, I –”

“I said, No!”

She growled between her teeth, just as feral as the Dalish were claimed to be. She turned on the spot and threw the paintbrush across the room – where it smacked into the back of Solas’ head.

For a moment, it was as if time stopped, but she could tell by the heat rising in her cheeks and by Solas’ sudden stillness that it certainly had not. Swears she had never uttered before dropped from her lips as her elder stood suddenly from his desk, turning to face her. Lavellan gave a high pitched scream as she ran for the door, a burst of fire exploding just near the tip of her right ear.

“ _It was an accident! Ir abelas! I didn’t mean to_!” she cried, as she slipped out of the room, with the door slamming just behind her.  


	2. Chapter 2

Lavellan was still shaking as she walked across the battlements towards Cullen’s room. She gave a small sniff as she gingerly stroked her ear. A few inches to the right and the smell of roasted elf would be filling her nostrils. He wouldn’t have actually hit her. At least she hoped so.

She stopped halfway across, the cool air whipping around her shoulders, flicking her hair across her face. With a shiver she drew her arms around herself. The thin beige clothes she was made to wear were barely suitable for a keep so high up in the mountains, however fancy they were considered in Antiva. They were Josephine’s idea of making the Inquisitor seem both relatable and practical, with shiny buckles for a touch of class.

Bloody beige pyjamas, is what they were. With boots included. A bearskin fur cloak would be of more use.

She shuddered as a sneeze ricocheted through her body.

“Agh!” she cried, looking around for Josie. The woman would kill her for being out of her quarters. The beautiful, amazing, Herald of Andraste, the fearless Dalish Elf, First to the Keeper, the revered Lady Inquisitor with her magical sparking hand…had been taken down by the common cold.

Suck on that, Corypheus. Oh how he should fear her!

Of course, he could throw a bucket of water over her and reduce her to a fit of sneezing. End of the world for everyone…

However she wouldn’t be facing anyone any time soon. Until such a time that she was healthier, for all practical purposes, she was grounded like some overgrown elf child. She hadn’t been trapped in doors for this long in her entire life. It wasn’t long before the boredom had begun to settle in.

Well if Solas wasn’t keen on entertaining, she’d just have to find someone else to interest her.

On that note, she began to walk towards Cullen’s room. Perhaps she could at least get a blush out of the commander or convince him to play a game of chess or something. However she had barely taken a couple of steps when a loud thud, followed by a yell resounded from within Cullen’s room itself.

With a sudden panic she ran the last of the way. She yanked on the door handle, only to find it locked on the other side. She thumped on the wooden panel,

“Cullen? Are you alright in there?” She yelled.

“He can’t hear you. He can’t hear anyone,” said Cole, giving Lavellan the fright of her life. He’d appeared as if from nowhere sat on the edge of the battlement, facing in towards the door, “the singing is louder now.  He can’t force it out. It invades. Consumes. It sings in his blood. I tried to help,” he looked at her, “He won’t let me help, why won’t he let me help?”

Calming the fierce pounding of her heart in her chest, Lavellan releases a shaky breath and sat down beside Cole on the stone wall.

“I don’t know,” she spoke honestly. She never really understood it herself. She was proud of Cullen. It was good that he had stopped taking the lyrium, but if it hurt this much, what was the point?

“He wants to be free, but it won’t let him,” Cole said as if answering her thoughts. The worry was clear in his voice, his bright blue eyes staring out at her from beneath the rim of his hat. Before he could jump up and start pacing, she threaded her arm through his, holding him down and keeping him settled. For a moment he froze, uncertain of the contact, before he visibly relaxed.

“There are some things, some challenges that people must face, where they can only do it on their own,”

“But –”

“People can help,” she gave him as warm a smile as she could manage with the wind biting at her skin, “ _friends_ can help. But what he feels inside? That he can only face by himself. It has to get worse before it gets better. But you can always be there to greet him afterwards, to let him know why it’s worth going through all this.”

“I want to help,” Cole said again, his head turning quickly as there was a crash of something being thrown against the other side of the door.

She gently patted his hand, “did you know that Cullen’s favourite drink is an Antivan Brandy? I’m sure Josephine would be willing to part with some, _if_ you were to ask her nicely,” she added on quickly. Josephine had lost half of her stock as it was between Varric and Sera, “I think Cullen would like to be met with a drink when he’s willing to leave his room. I sure know I could use one after something like that.”

“Antivan Brandy,” he repeated as if reminding himself, before he gave a short nod, “he would like that.”

And Cole disappeared from her side.

 

Lavellan sat for a while alone on the battlement staring at Cullen’s door before she stood up to leave. She couldn’t be of help, and she wasn’t going to invade his privacy by storming down his door. Instead she turned to head back the way she came when she stopped again. There was no way she was going to go back into the Rotunda with Solas fuming at her.

So…huh.

   Creators. There were no stairs leading down from there, only a door back and a door forwards and no way would she face either one. With a glint in her eye she looked over the edge of the battlement. It wasn’t _that_ far down. And elves always land on their feet. Maybe.

With only a moment of hesitation, she sat down and swung her legs over the side so she was facing out. She was just about to launch herself over the edge when she heard a loud, deep voice somewhere below her feet.

“Uh, _Boss_?”

Leaning over as far as she’d dare without falling off completely she looked down at her observer. She’d know his voice anywhere, “hey Bull,” she gave a little wave.

The giant horned figure was staring up at her, an arm cast over his eyes to block out the sun as he squinted, “You’re not gonna jump from there, are you?”

She gave him a sweet smile and made a show of swinging her legs back and forth. “What gave you that idea? Just enjoying the view.”

“Uh, huh. That so?”

“Mhmm.”

“’Cause from down here, kinda looks like you’re gonna jump.”

“Maybe, the thought crossed my mind for a moment,” _Would have done it too, if you weren’t walking by..._

“Does Josephine know you’re out here?” He called, a sly grin slowly spreading across his face.

Her lip curled slightly, “of course. All cured, that’s me,” her words were ruined slightly by the hacking cough that caught her by surprise and threated to tip her over the edge. Her hands flew out to grasp the wall on either side of her.

“Shit, Boss. You alright?” A flicker of worry was clear on his face even from this distance.

“ _I’M FINE_!” she all but shouted across the keep, her face red with both cold and annoyance. She gave a deep breath out and looked back down at the Iron Bull, “hey Bull. You’d catch me right?”

“Wait, what?”

He barely had time to register as the tiny elf practically swan dived off the side of the wall. She only heard a loud _FUCK!_ before she was caught in a thick, solid set of arms.

“You’re fucking crazy, boss,” his one eye looked down at her in his arms.

She sniffed and dragged the back of her hand across her nose with an awful sucking noise, “I like you too, Bull.”

He gave a deep, rumbling laugh and she shook in his arms, “don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Iron Bull lowered Lavellan onto a seat, up on the second floor of the tavern, away from curious eyes. Apart from Sera’s of course, who was poking her head out of her room the moment she heard Bull’s booming tones. The people didn’t want to see their blessed leader choking on her own phlegm. Herald of Andraste, indeed. Didn’t Andraste’s grace protect against things like getting sick? She shivered in her chair.

“I know just the thing for you, boss. Warm you right up,” he patted her on the back.

Sera, as if appearing out of stealth was suddenly in the seat opposite Lavellan, “I want drinks if you’re buying, yeah?”

Bull left them to go order the drinks, but his lieutenant, Krem, joined them at their table.

“I’d be careful with anything the boss gives you. He hasn’t got any taste buds left.”

Lavellan scraped her teeth across her tongue, “I can’t taste anything at the moment.”

Krem gave a snort, “you’ll taste this.”

She smiled, not fully understanding the peril of her situation. The Dalish tended to drink earthy wines made from the local nature of wherever their current surroundings were. There was this one wine they’d made whilst they were in the Free Marches that…well they couldn’t really remember what happened, but after the visions they’d had, they’d never eaten the berries in that area again. Bull seemed determined to get her onto stronger drinks, although she’d always refused until now.

“You look awful, Inky,” Sera’s voice peeped up.

“ _Thanks_ ,” Lavellan dropped her head onto the wood of the table, her voice becoming muffled by her arm, “you always have the sweetest things to say.”

“I try.”

Suddenly there was loud bang on the table, Lavellan’s head shooting up as Bull placed several more tankards than there were people on the table. Lavellan stared at the drinks with unease, her stomach twisting at the sight.

“…They’re bigger than my head,” she muttered.

“Almost everything’s bigger than you, Boss,” he sat down beside her, his massive frame almost threatening to push her off her own chair, “just drink what you can. The rest, are for me and Krem–”

“Hey! What about me!”

With a sigh, Bull pushed a tankard over to Sera, “be careful with that, little elf.”

She screwed up her face at him, “I ain’t little. I’m compact,” She took an almighty swig, before choking and spraying it back out over them, “urghh! Tastes like piss!”

Iron Bull threw his head back laughing, ignoring the alcohol dripping down his face.

If she’d been unsure before, Lavellan was damn right scared now. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. However with Iron Bull’s one good eye watching her, she dipped her pinkie finger into the fermented liquid and placed it just within her lips.

Even at the tiniest of tastes, fiery warmth spread through her, jolting her entire system. Something like menthol made her lips tingle till she couldn’t feel them anymore. The taste itself was pretty awful, but it sent her heart racing even as she grimaced. She gave a small cough, and Iron Bull placed his giant hand on her shoulder.

“You alright, Boss?”

She gave a small nod, “mmhm.”

“Good! Drink up! Nothing like it to bring you back to health!” his thumb rubbed her shoulder surprisingly gently and he leaned in as if sharing a secret just with her, “my own recipe,” he added with a wink, or what she assumed must be a wink.

“I don’t even want to know what’s in this.”

“Probably for the best.”

 

Several hours later, Lavellan couldn’t see straight. Surprisingly the drink, which Sera had given the nickname of ‘Dragon Piss’, got better after the first few sips. If she hadn’t been able to taste anything before, now she couldn’t even feel her mouth.

Sera, was lying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, singing ‘Sera Was Never’ despite her insistence that she hated the song. Krem was playing a game of wicked grace against Varric who had walked into the tavern just over an hour before, but had somehow already managed to catch up with them on the drinking front. At some point, which Lavellan couldn’t actually remember she had clambered up onto the Iron Bull’s shoulder’s where he sat, and had her arms wrapped around his head, in what she seemed to think was a loving embrace. Bull didn’t seem to mind.

“I need your help,” she said suddenly, her words slurring and her cold all but forgotten with the fire roaring in her chest.

“With?” turned his head ever so slightly but couldn’t actually look at her. His voice sounded a lot clearer.

“Vivienne is being a right old–”

“No.”

Lavellan blinked. She hadn’t finished speaking, had she?

“I didn’t even say–”

“No.”

“ _But_ I just want your help to prank–”

“No.”

“Buuullll!” she whined, “you have to help me!”

“I don’t have to do anything. That woman is an archdemon in high fucking heels!” he stopped suddenly and his head swung back and forth as if he was terrified that Vivienne would somehow hear him all the way from her room. Lavellan wouldn’t put it past her.

“Ugh. You’re no fun,” Lavellan pouted.

“ _No fun_?” the Iron Bull said gruffly and with one hand, reached back, grabbed the back of her shirt and swung her around until she was on his lap, “is this a little more fun, Boss?”

She laughed brightly, her arms still around his neck, her small body seeming encompassed by his own.

Their interaction seemed to draw Varric’s attention, his eyes glancing up from his cards, “watch yourself, Tiny. Don’t forget how young our Herald is,” his voice was friendly, but had oddly protective undercurrents. Not surprisingly really, considering how quickly he had taken Cole under his wing. Lavellan sometimes forgot how much older Varric was than he seemed. Dwarven blood perhaps. Dwarven blood was probably also the reason that Varric appeared to be the only one in the room who was remotely sober.

“I’m not that young,” she protested, not really paying attention to what she was really protesting.

Varric chuckled, “Maybe that will mean something when you’re twenty, Inquisitor.”

Lavellan turned to look at Iron Bull who was being surprisingly quiet. His eyes were focused down on his drink instead.

“Thought you’d be writing notes for a new book, not giving them the dad talk,” said Krem as if to ease Iron Bull’s sudden tension.

“HEY! INKY!” Sera shouted over them all, “Josie just walked in!”

Lavellan’s eyes widened and within seconds she was scrambling off of Iron Bull’s lap and was disappearing under the table.

It was almost as if the music had stopped, as all her companions suddenly settled around the table, decidedly quieter than they had been only moments previous.

There was creak on the top step as a pair of golden slippers ascended to the second floor. Lavellan gripped Iron Bull’s stripy clothed leg under the table, desperately trying to stop the bubble of laughter threatening to burst through her lips. Iron bull gently patted her hair.

“Ruffles,” Varric spoke, with his always gentle, but rough, storyteller’s voice, “to what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Oh! I do not mean to interrupt; I only…have any of you seen our lady Inquisitor? She’s not in her quarters.”

“Last I saw her; she was off looking for Dorian. She’s probably in the library.”

Josephine’s feet tapped the floor, “the library?” with that she turned on her heels and went back down the stairs.

Lavellan finally let the giggles building in her chest escape her and she collapsed onto the floor, holding her sides, until it turned into a fit of coughing instead. It wasn’t even that funny, but a second thought had occurred to her. She loved her friends. All of them. In a different way than she had loved her clan. Her clan had been a family, wonderful and loving but joined together through life and necessity. But her friends? For they were her friends, they were by her side because they chose to remain. And they had just bare faced lied to Josephine, a woman who, when angered, even made Vivienne seem relatively harmless. You wouldn’t think it to look at Josephine, with her pretty eyes and eloquent tongue, but she played the role of Mother Hen with a fierce hand.

 

For a while, she simply lay there as Iron Bull was dealt into the game of Wicked Grace and Sera went downstairs to have a go at the bard who was testing all new lyrics to ‘Sera was Never’. Quite a time had passed when a pair of deft hands grabbed her arms and dragged her halfway out from under the table.

“What have we here? An elf, which ran away from her imprisonment? Sounds like home.”

Lavellan stared up through bleary eyes, but she couldn’t mistake that moustache anywhere, “Dorian!” she cried, throwing up her arms.

“Inquisitor. It appears you have been drowned. In a barrel full of ale I would suspect, or whatever it is the Qunari are drinking nowadays. Josephine seemed awfully certain the Inquisitor would be with me. I told her to look for Cole. I see that is not the case. Why was _I,_ not invited to the party?”

“It wasn’t one,” Iron Bull responded, “just drinks with the Inquisitor.”

The corner of Dorian’s mouth turned up, “then it is a good thing I am here! How about we get some more drinks in, hm?”

 

Things became more and more confusing as the night went on. Sera lost most of her clothing in a game of wicked grace, but that did nothing to stop her running around the tavern, singing and pulling unwilling patrons into dances with her. Iron Bull and Dorian began arguing as they usually did about the war between the Qunari and the Venatori, their arguments getting louder and wilder as they continued. Lavellan at some point in the night had caught sight of Varric’s earrings and had proceeded to ask how he got them pierced. He had described to her a great tale involving his brother, Bartrand and attempting a new trick with what had been his new crossbow, Bianca.

Lavellan ever the more intrigued, rubbed her own pointed ears, imagining shiny hoops piercing them.

“Would you pierce my ears?” she asked at one point, all wide eyed and perfectly serious.

“Pierce your…yeah. I suppose.”

She paused for a second, “with Bianca?”

There was a long moment of staring at each other, before Varric downed the last of his drink, “sure. Why not.”

Lavellan jumped up from her seat, clapping her hands together and a wide smile on her lips. They’d both had too much to drink to even consider any problems with what they were about to do, and the others seemed too far gone to notice anything amiss. Varric grabbed Bianca from where she had been resting by his chair and had it pointed directly at Lavellan’s ear when there was a horrified scream as Cassandra stepped into the room. Varric jumped at the sound, and a bolt embedded itself into the ceiling above Lavellan’s head.

“Aw,” said Lavellan, staring at the bolt, disappointed.

“ _Varric_!” Cassandra shouted, moving across the room in just a couple steps and yanking Bianca out of his hands, “what is wrong with you!”

“HEY!” He growled only to be quietened with a stern look from the Seeker.

Her gaze turned to Lavellan, and somehow turned even more disapproving, “and you? You should be resting!”

Lavellan blinked, “I am. Kind of,” then she hiccupped and quickly covered her mouth, before she could start coughing again.

The Seeker looked around the room, her nostrils flaring. When she caught sight of Sera who was almost naked but for her smallclothes, redness rose along her striking cheekbones.  

“By the maker!” she breathed in deeply trying to compose herself, and then seemed to reach the conclusion that it was simply best to leave. She gripped Bianca tightly, “I am taking _this_ with me.”

She left the room in silence.

“Who was that?” Krem asked lifting his head from the table where he had been sleeping.


	4. Chapter 4

When Lavellan awoke early the next morning, everything was quiet. Shooting pains shot through her head as she tried to move so she didn’t. Instead she nestled into the solid pillow beneath her. Her throat was burning after slowly coming back to life after the solid night’s drinking. She wasn’t quite sure where she was, but at that moment it didn’t seem to matter.

She was in fact sprawled across the Iron Bull, with him beneath her, lying on the stone floor. Her face was pressed into his chest, one arm above her head and the other across him. Her knee pressed up against _him._ Iron Bull had one of his thick arms holding her to him and the other placed around the back of her thigh, his fingers gracing inwards.

It certainly would have seemed a lot more explicit if it hadn’t been for that fact that they were both still fully dressed. That and that Iron Bull was snoring so fiercely the room could have been shaking, and that there was line of drool from Lavellan’s mouth dripping onto his chest.

Somewhere in the corner of Lavellan’s mind, she could hear that something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t Iron Bull’s snoring, but the strange giggles that were coming from the centre of the room.

Cursing everything, Lavellan lifted her head, ignoring the screaming it didn’t in protest. Blearily, she opened her eyes and looked around. Krem was still at his seat, head still on the table asleep. Varric was spread across several chairs, and for some reason had a vicious black eye, but was still unconscious.

In the centre of the room, lay Dorian, on the plush rug that he had made his bed for the night. He must have been knocked out or something, for he didn’t even stir, despite Sera crouching over him with a knife, giggling like a mad pixie.

Confused, Lavellan rubbed at her eyes. But the scene was still set out the same way before her. She was just about to call out to her when,

“No…” she said under her breath. No. No. _No!_

Sera was scraping the knife across Dorian’s upper lip, his glorious moustache falling away beneath her devilish fingers. She was _shaving_ him. Whilst he slept.

Panic rose in her like every cell in her body was clawing at her, pointing at what was happening, screaming at her for letting it happen. Breath entered her body in a whoosh, and she let out a blood curdling scream. And creators did she scream, her hands clutching at her own chest as Sera looked around her, pure glee in her eyes.

Iron Bull sat up like a bolt behind her, his arms gripping her in alarm. His eye was bloodshot and still heavy as he tried to pull her to him in some sort of protective stance whilst he worked out exactly what was happening.

And then he saw Sera. And Dorian still somehow passed out on the floor.

And for the first time since having met him, she heard the Iron Bull scream.

 

 

 

Much later that same morning, Lavellan lay in her own bed, her covers thrown off her as the heat grew far too much for her to bear, even with all the doors to her balcony left open. In a fit of frustration she sat up far too quickly, the room spinning around her. Her fingers tugged through her ragged hair, plastered to her scalp with sweat. She could only hope this was the drink’s fault and not her illness rearing its ugly head.

She collapsed back onto her pillow.

The events of the morning were still with her and caused an awful knot in her stomach. Dorian had woken pretty quickly after the Iron Bull’s quick sharp yelp that could have punctured the rooftop. He’d looked around in confusion at everyone’s horrified faces. Sera, being Sera, had quickly flown from the room leaving everyone else to deal with the consequences. Dorian must have felt a cool breeze upon his upper lip from one of the windows, for with no further hints, his fingers had brushed the now utterly smooth skin.

 Lavellan had gripped Iron Bull’s arm, which was still around her, with a vice like grip, waiting for his reaction. Dorian was staring straight at her.

“…Did you…?” he started slowly as if still dazed.

“NO!” she shrieked, quick to clear her name, “it was Sera, I swear!”

In a second Dorian was on his feet, unbothered by any hangover from the previous night and was chasing after the elf, practically bounding down the stairs, leaving his staff behind. A stream of Tevine curses could be heard right until he walked out of the tavern itself.

“Great Ancestors, what was that about?” Varric had appeared to have resurfaced into the waking world.

 The Iron Bull and Lavellan simply looked at him. Then they seemed to realise that Varric was indeed staring back at them, and realised just exactly how they were positioned. Ever the gentleman, Iron Bull shoved her off his lap onto the hard wooden floor.

“Ow!” She cried jabbing him back with her foot.

Everyone seemed extremely uncomfortable. It only got worse when Josephine found them.

So, inevitably she had ended up back in her own quarters. She had been almost grateful at the time disappearing underneath the covers of her bed with a happy sigh. Lavellan had never thought she would get used to beds, instead of the familiar comfort of a forest floor, but right at that moment she could understand why human’s liked them so much.

However as the morning drew on, the more uncomfortable she felt, unable to breathe and the heat slowly getting to her. After a while, she simply gave up, swinging her legs out of the bed. Aware that she was now dressed in only a shift, she grabbed one of many fur lined robes Leliana had placed in her room, and tucked it around her.

Lavellan bounded through her door, taking the steps a couple at a time, desperate to find some fresh air. She looked over the railing as she went, looking for any sign of her advisors. That was how she didn’t notice when her foot got caught up in the tail end of the robe, and she was sent flying down the stairs,

Right into something solid.

She choked as the air was cut from her lungs, and she fumbled to grab onto the solid something, and was quite surprised when it grabbed her back.

“Inquisitor!” it said, “Forgive me, are you alright?”

Lavellan whipped the hair back out of her face and looked up in the warm embrace of Commander Cullen. He looked startled, all wide eyed but full of concern.

“Creators! I’m so sorry!” She quickly righted herself, moving back up a step, and pulling out of his arms. It took him a second to realise she’d actually moved and his arms dropped limply by his side. One of his hands still held onto a bottle of Antivan Brandy.

“No, I shouldn’t of–”

“Cullen, if you hadn’t been there, I would have broken my neck!” she laughed.

He moved from one foot to the other, looking abashed and as if he was looking for the nearest exit. 

“I was just…I was going to…”

Lavellan almost felt sorry for him. For a leader of her forces, the commander could be awfully insecure when it came to actually talking to another person. _Or_ it could be to do with the fact that her robe had fallen wide open and there was just a small piece of linen keeping her from being entirely naked.

“Fuck!” she cried pulling the robe around her, “I’m so sorry, Cullen, I didn’t know! I…Oh, Dread Wolf take me!” she covered her face with her hands, her cheeks now bright red.

To her surprise, Cullen started laughing, harder than she had ever heard him laugh before. She slapped him on the arm, “stop it! It’s not that funny! Why are you even here?”

“Oh, uh,” he lifted up the bottle of Antivan Brandy, “Cole gave this to me, and uh, considering you’re the only one who even knows I like brandy, I thought perhaps you had something to do with it,” as he spoke, a blush crept into his cheeks to match her own.

She knew she’d get a blush out of the commander.

Before she could say anything he started speaking again, “of course, now that I think about it, I realise that Cole can read minds, so…” he trailed off, closing his eyes.

“I may have mentioned it to him.”

A look of relief swept over the commander’s features, “oh. Good. Then thank you.”

Lavellan smiled back at him, an odd tightness in her chest. It was hard not to smile back when he smiled like that. He was rather handsome; it wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed. In fact the thought had entered her mind every time she was near him. And here she was standing, half naked, hair a mess, hung over and on the edge of a cold. It was so much easier with the others.

“Anyway, I better, you know,” he turned to leave.

“Cullen!” she called suddenly, surprising herself, “would you join me for breakfast?”

“Breakfast?”

“Josephine left some food for me, but I’d rather not eat on my own.”

Somehow the blush in his cheeks got even more severe, and just when she thought he would insist on refusing, he gave a small nod.

She began to lead him back up her stairs, nerves flitting through every nerve in her body, “plus with that brandy we can easily turn this into an Orlesian breakfast.”

 

 

Cullen and the Inquisitor sat at a small table in her room. With great thirst, she drank down gulps of water, from the jug left along with breakfast by Josephine.

“Had a lot to drink last night?” Cullen asked, picking at the pastry in front of him.

She smacked her lips, “you could say that.”

“I’m surprised you don’t seem more…in pain.”

“We Elves have amazing constitutions. We need it with the amount of poisonous things we find to eat in the wilderness.”

Putting down her water glass, she began popping pieces of cut up fruit in her mouth, licking her fingers as she went. She brought her bare feet up onto the chair with her, tucked under her body, to make her taller and improve her reach as she grabbed more and more. She’d always been a fast eater. Cullen had stopped to look at her, and she smiled at him, the sticky fruit juices running down her chin.

She was never bothered by little things like that.

The smile seemed to give him some courage, “thank you, for not intruding on me yesterday. I would rather you didn’t see me like that.”

“I know,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“It’s not usually like that, I just–”

“I understand.”

He gave a long drawn out sigh, and pushed his plate away from him, “I hate this. I…I _hate_ this. I hate being a burden,” he covered his face with his hands, hating the words coming out of his mouth.

 “Cullen?” she said his name softly, before reaching forward, grabbing his hands and pulling them away from his face. She held onto them, “ _Cullen._ Is this some stupid human thing that I don’t understand? Why are you taking this out on yourself? You haven’t done anything.”

He didn’t say anything, not even looking at her, but his thumbs brushed against the back of her hands.

She stared at him, waiting until he met her gaze, “I’m proud of you, you know that?” she said, “I don’t get it, not if it makes you feel this bad, but I’m still proud of you.”

She hardly heard him as he spoke so quietly, “thank you.”

“Now shut up. You’re ruining breakfast.”

Cullen gave his small smile, as she pulled away her sticky hands, took half of his pastry and stuffed it in her mouth. She gave a groan of delight, “Creators, we should eat at Skyhold more often.”

The mood was a lot lighter from then onwards. Perhaps it was just something he had to have out. If it made him feel better she was glad he had spoken, even if she wasn’t too good with things like that. Mind you, mothering Cole was teaching her a lot about compassion.

After they had both eaten more than they could handle, they slumped back in their chairs.

“Hey, Cullen.”

“Mm?”

“Do you think I’m young?”

He was thrown by the question, his brow furrowing and his cheeks turning slightly pink, “Young? Why do you ask?”

She bit the inside of her gum, “just something that came up last night.”

“Uh. Well,” he looked for the right words, “you’re young…but you’re not _young_ young _._ ”

Lavellan laughed, “Whatever that means?”

“Like…you’re young compared to Mother Giselle, but you’re not young compared to Sera or Cole.”

 “Oh,” she got a crease in her brow, “how old are you?”

Cullen seemed taken aback and he gave a short humourless laugh, “quite.”

“Quite?”

“Quite.”

“Like…old compared to Sera or Cole, but not old compared to Mother Giselle?” she asked raising an eyebrow. He gave her a stern look for using his own words against him, but the softness always remained underneath.

“Like, I’m thirty.”

He seemed irritated, when she burst into laughter, but she waved him down, trying to get the words out, “Cullen! That’s not old!”

“It feels old! Especially around you.”

Her mouth fell open in mock outrage, “see! You do think I’m young!”

“Ugh, not like that! Why are you so difficult to talk to?”

“Like _I’m_ the one who’s difficult to talk to? You always say things in a round-about way! Are all men so focused on never saying anything at all?”

They both glared at each other across the table. He seemed to have no response. So, she threw a piece of fruit at him. His face remained dead-pan as it slid down his cheek.

“You know the kind of people that throw food? Children,” he said.

Her eye’s widened, and before Cullen had processed that she had moved, the entire bowl of fruit had been dumped on his head.


	5. Chapter 5

They went their own ways pretty quickly after that. If she was honest, she was sorry for getting fruit in his so perfectly styled hair. If she was even more honest, she wasn’t sorry at all.

Not wishing to dress in yesterday’s clothes which now smelt like a brewery, Lavellan dressed instead in the simply clothing, the kind she would wear underneath armour, leggings and a sleeveless tunic. It looked like she’d stolen something out of Sera’s wardrobe, Lavellan thought to herself as she glanced in the mirror, but at least her clothing was well kept.

Shivering, she put the fur robe back on, on top.

She made her way down in to the main hall of the keep and was nearly outside when the door to the rotunda caught her eye. She chewed on her bottom lip before walking over and resting her hand on the wood of the door. This didn’t feel like too good of an idea.

That didn’t stop her from pushing open the door and slipping quietly into the room. For a moment she couldn’t see the elf, expecting him to be at his desk or painting, but instead he was sprawled across a couch that had been pushed up against the wall. Solas held a book loosely in his hands, and seemed deeply engrossed.

_He hadn’t even noticed her_.

“Inquisitor.”

Lavellan jumped as he suddenly spoke, her hand to her chest, “how did you…I was being quiet!”

“You have the heaviest footfall of the entire Inquisition. The Qunari included. I could hear you even when the door was closed.”

Her mouth fell open in rage and she was about to throw one of his books from off the desk, when she noticed his small smile. Perhaps it would be wise to stop throwing things at people…

Lavellan walked over to the sofa, and to her surprise, he brought his legs down, moving up into the corner so she could sit down. She sat tentatively on the edge.

“Are you still angry with me?” she asked, feeling more like a child than around anyone else.

“You’re not on fire, so I would guess not.”

A wide grin appeared on her face, and she scooted along the sofa, lying out, with her head falling on top of his lap and arms, trapping his book underneath, forcing him to look at her directly, “good.”

Solas blinked down at her as if he’d expected no other reaction. He pulled his arms out from under her, her head dropping onto his legs, and he placed his book to the side.

“You appear to be in better health.”

“Yes, well, after you so rudely kicked me out, I saw the error of my ways, retired to my quarters, read a book, had some me-time, you know?”

“Is that so?” he shifted underneath her, not allowing tension to enter his voice, “because I heard you spent the night getting drunk and shaving our Tevinter Magister?”

“ _I AM NOT A MAGISTER!”_ shouted a voice from upstairs, which Solas blankly ignored.

Lavellan crossed her arms, “why does everyone keep blaming me? It was Sera!”

“But you do not deny the excessive drinking?”

She sat up like a shot, turning to look at him, “I’m the _Inquisitor_ , you can’t bully me like this! I could have you thrown from the roof if I so desired!”

“Is that so?” his mouth quirked.

“Yes!” she gave him a threatening glare, which was in fact, not threatening at all, before she fell back down on to his lap, “Luckily for you, I am a merciful and forgiving leader…”

“Oh, very forgiving.”

“Incredibly talented, too.”

“And you’re in no way egotistical or vain.”

 “Exactly, you get it,” she stared up at him from where she lay and he simply watched her back. He was leaning away from her, trying to reduce the strange intimacy of the situation, even with her presence holding him firmly to his seat. Her lips twitched, trying not to smile. It was always fun to make him uncomfortable. He spent so much time alone that any physical contact seemed to throw him off, or at least, from her it did.

Solas spoke, “I am sure you must have plans for the day; do not let me keep you from them.”

“Keep me from them? I have no plans. I’m being held prisoner do you forget? Josephine won’t even let me out of here for another couple of days. Oh!” her face lit up, “you should take me into the fade!”

“No.”

Lavellan’s face fell, “why not?”

“It is best not, Da’len.”

She sat up again, pulling away from him, “Ugh, do you have to keep calling me that?”

“What, _Da’len_?” she couldn’t tell if he said it again out of curiosity or just to spite her.

“ _Small child?_ Condescending much?”

 He shook his head with a laugh, “you will remember that you called me Hahren first?”

“Yeah, well, you’re all serious and morbid all the time. I feel like I’m being told off by my Elder! And anyway, I only called you that because you insulted my clan!”

“I didn’t insult _your_ clan. I dislike all the Dalish.”

She scowled at him, “oh, ‘cause that’s _so_ much better.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so against being called Da’len. You’ve never protested before,” he seemed a lot more comfortable now that he was free to move around, although he looked confused.

“That was before everyone insisted on reminding me how young I am. Did everyone have a conversation I wasn’t invited to?”

“Lethallin, you are young. I am sure no one means to say any less of you.”

Lavellan let out a harsh breath, glaring at Solas like everything was his fault, “oh, they never mention it when it suits them. I’m never too young to address a room full of Shemlen nobles, or to, I don’t know; kill a demon claiming to be a god? But if I want to leave Skyhold of my own free will, or…be treated like an actual woman, then suddenly my age is too much of an issue.”

When Solas didn’t say anything she continued,

“I have been an adult ever since I received my Vallasiln. My clan understood that,” she could feel her face was red with anger, but she could also feel the sting of tears in her eyes, even as she refused to cry.

They would never treat her differently if she cried so easily. It hadn’t been until she started speaking that she realised how long this had been getting too her. Yes, she could be immature and yes she could throw tantrums, but she had watched Cassandra enough times to know that even grown women could be innocent and sometimes immature, and had she not watched Corypheus throw a big ass tantrum when he couldn’t remove her anchor?

She had lived through more than most. Wasn’t she allowed to find fun where she could?

“Not just an adult, but leader to us all, Lethallin,” Solas spoke up. His voice was oddly calming when he willed it. To her surprise he placed a hand on her arm, “do not allow anyone to tell you otherwise. In this world, you must demand respect, for many will be unwilling to give it. You owe them nothing. Everything you do is your own choice…perhaps it is wise to remind them of that?”

Blinking back the tears that threatened to betray her, she gave Solas a weak smile, covering his hand with her own, “you are wiser than I, Solas, that is why I called you Hahren.”

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes, but it was gone before she could make sense of it, “not that wise, Lethallin,” he pulled his hand out from under hers, “I have something I must attend to. Next time, you see Josephine; I recommend you tell her you are ready to head back out. I will be happy to accompany you.”

And he left her sitting in the rotunda on her own.

“ _Well_ , that was intense,” said Dorian, leaning over the railing above her, a plaster covering his upper lip.


	6. Chapter 6

“And people call me a child.”

“I am not being a child, I am reasonably distressed,” Dorian was leaning back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling to the floor above, his hand covering his eyes. Lavellan had made her way up to his side after Solas’ hasty retreat, only to find Dorian moping about his library, grabbing random books and throwing them out of the window. It took some persuasion to get him to sit down.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it,” Lavellan sat on the edge of his table.

“Ah yes. She was only thinking the friendliest of thoughts, when she took that blade to my lip.”

“Creators, you’re so melodramatic! Sera _shaved_ you! You make it sound like murder.”

Dorian sneered, “Wouldn’t put it past her.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“Mm,” he grumbled, his hand falling as he looked up at her, “I suppose it is too much to ask if the Dalish know of any form of magic that aids hair regrowth?”

She smiled despite herself, “I am unaware of any, no.”

“Ugh. There’s no point in asking Solas. He obviously has no idea.”

“ _Dorian_!” she shoved him with her foot, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Not _that_ upset then.

“What is with you two, anyway?”

Lavellan’s eyes narrowed, “what do you mean?”

“Solas?” Dorian raised his eyebrows, “lie on him often do you?”

“Oh that? I happen to lie everywhere and anywhere I wish. I wished to lie on that sofa, and Solas just happened to be in the way.”

“Ah yes, so the only reasonable compromise was to rest your head on his crutch?”

A hot flush bloomed in her cheeks, “ _DORIAN!”_ she cried, her hands gripping the edge of the table, “It’s not like that! And anyway, I sprawl across you all the time.”

“You’re practically a cat. But it doesn’t count with me.”

“Is it meant to count?”

“What would you think if I just prostrated myself over Cullen?”

“I would hardly be surprised,” Lavellan said with a pointed look.

“Perhaps not the best of analogies, no one would turn me down.”

Lavellan laughed, only to stop short, “wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I simply mean to say, that Solas practically ran from the room,” Dorian stopped speaking as one of Leliana’s scouts passed by, watching them as they went, before he leant in towards Lavellan, “not the best turn of events considering your conversation.”

“Okay, for one, you shouldn’t have even been listening, and secondly, I’m hardly his Keeper, he has plenty to do, whilst I for one, am still stuck here.”

“You didn’t seem to think his work was that important yesterday?”

She screwed up her face, “you’re awfully aware of all that goes on, _which has nothing to do with you,_ by the way, for a man who didn’t even realise his own moustache was being shaved off.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” he flopped back in his chair again; thumb brushing the plaster on his lip.

“Sera should be cautious; won’t Tevinter see that akin to an act of war?” 

“People have been killed over less, no doubt,” Dorian said, a slight hint of disgust in his voice, “although you will have to work harder to distract me from the topic at hand. What exactly is it you wish from your, _Hahren?”_ his tongue curled over the word, suggestively.

Lavellan frowned, “for your information, _Hahren_ just means elder, so you can take _that_ tone out of your voice, and I talk to Solas, because…well sometimes I prefer the company of another elf.”

“ _Company?”_

“Ugh, stop it! I like talking to him because he understands more of my clan than any of you possibly can…even if he doesn’t like the Dalish. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy spending time with you and the others, but every now and again it’s nice to just hear someone speak in my true tongue.”

_“Ton–”_

“I said stop it!” she slapped his chest and he simply gave a laugh in response.

“Very well,” he smiled, “I will take you at your word. Although I know one other who would be interested to hear that you only see him as your Elder, as it were.”

_Well I wouldn’t quite say that,_ “what, who?”

“The Qunari.”

Lavellan pressed her lips together, feeling the blush on her cheeks once more, “The Iron Bull?”

“Mmhm,” Dorian smirked.

“… _pleased?_ Somehow I doubt that. He practically threw me off him this morning.”

“Can you blame him? You were in a room with half the inquisition, all of which, happen to see you as their precious young Herald of Andraste, whilst he is a big hulking mass representative of the people that tried to overthrow Thedas only a few centuries ago.”

“Well, Tevinter is hardly seen in a good light, and you still don’t mind being seen around me.”

“Yes, but it’s not like I’m often seen with you in a public light,” then he added in quiet whisper, “nor am I caught with my hand on your ass,”

“That was hardly his fault…I wasn’t in the best of positions myself. I was on the table when I fell asleep…I must have rolled over onto him and…”

“But neither of you were that displeased at the situation.”

“I…this hardly matters. I thought there was something going on with you two the way you carry on.”

“You mean the backhanded compliments and the hatred of each other’s homelands, publicly disguised as flirtation? I will flirt with anyone, and so will he, but there is nothing going on, I can assure you.”

“Oh.”

“Awfully concerned, for one with no interest, hm? Are you honestly telling me, the thought has never crossed your mind? I know for certain it has crossed his. I may not be good at hiding my expressions, but I am good at reading others. The Ben-Hassrath slips…in the right circumstances.”

Dorian watched her as she cast her eyes away from him, slowly chewing the inside of her cheek. Her feet padded up and down on his thighs. Her feet never seemed to stop moving when she was anxious. He gripped them with his hands and held them between his fingers, and finally she met his gaze.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“He watches you. I thought nothing of it first. As a warrior he aims to protect and you are small on the battlefield and easily lost. But it’s not just in battle. As you travel, he remains at your back or at your side, never leading. At Skyhold he actively asks where you are to, without ever asking directly, just a little poke in the right direction, until someone mentions your whereabouts. He nearly took the eye of one less than sensitive fellow who decided to comment on your bosom…or the lack of which, one might say…” he trailed off at the end, clenching his teeth and give her an apologising look.

Subconscious, she placed a hand underneath the line of her breast. Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong. She wasn’t particularly gifted in that area, even for an elf.

“Well if he balks the moment Varric says–”

“Maker’s Breath! Will you stop rabbiting on about that? He’s trying to do the right thing…I… _Oh. Who cares_? I don’t even like him! Leave him to it if you will, or send him away all together, indeed that seems the best scenario for everyone involved.”

Lavellan felt a nervous bubble of anxiety twisting in her stomach. She covered her warm face with her hands, “I don’t want that. I don’t know what to do…I never really thought…”

“Jump him if you must.”

“ _What_? No!”

“I admit, the size is a bit of an issue, but…”

“It’s not that! This is hardly a subject up for debate!”

“The horns are most definitely a health hazard…”

“ _Dorian_! _It’s not that_! I…Iron Bull is…I’ve never…I couldn’t just…I lack the… _experience_.”

“You do realise, he will be well aware of it, Ben-Hassrath and all,” at Dorian’s words, Lavellan’s blush somehow grew deeper, “and you wondered why he thought age might be an issue?”

Lavellan pulled her legs up onto the table and hid her face behind them, “I don’t think I could face him.”

Dorian paused for a moment, “may I ask a rather sensitive question?”

“Depends,” her voice was muffled by her legs.

“Have you never even found pleasure by yourself?” he asked unabashed.

Her head shot up, eyes wide with horror and embarrassment, “I’m a virgin Dorian, not a Cleric!”

“Good, that is one hurdle at least. I simply suggest that if you wish to sate your…curiosity, the Qunari might not be the worst option in the world.”

She opened her mouth but then closed it. Just the idea of it made her feel queasy with unease, but she couldn’t deny that she’d been flirting with Iron Bull from the day she met him. Of course, she had in fact been flirting with everyone, as was her way. But when she heard those women talking about him in Haven, her curiosity had somewhat piqued. She liked to think she wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone – except perhaps Vivienne. At Dorian’s words however, a part of her had already began to think things through. She was never going to let fear control her, she who demanded the world’s attention. She could take anything in her stride.

Pushing all fears down deep inside her, instead of balking, she breathed deeply in until a natural smile could make its way onto her face.

“What can I do?”

Dorian smirked, the corner of his plaster peeling off, “I have a few ideas.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual Content in this chapter

“Inky!” Sera pulled Lavellan into a hug so fierce that for a moment she couldn’t breathe. The elf held onto her for a moment before suddenly letting her go, “and Dorian…yay,”

Dorian eyes blazed at the sight of the other elf, his upper lip twitching fiercely, “you dare to show your face in this tavern after what you did?” he cried and Lavellan had to turn to hold him back.

“I didn’t do nothing, you arse!”

Dorian pushed Lavellan away with ease, heading straight for Sera, who gave a frightful squeal and ran around one the tables, keeping it between her and him, a stream of profanity falling from her mouth. Fire sparked into life in one of Dorian’s hands and suddenly even the Bard was running for cover.

“Get back over here, or I’ll burn this entire place down!” Dorian growled at her, the light of the fire glowing in his eyes.

“You are not burning down the tavern, Dorian!” Lavellan stamped her foot, for all the good it did. She noticed out of the corner of her eye, that Iron Bull and Varric had come halfway down the stairs to see what the commotion was. She ignored them.

“You can’t use magic! That’s cheating!” Sera held a chair up in front of her.

“ _STOP IT BOTH OF YOU!”_

The two froze, before turning to look at Lavellan whose face was bright red. Even though her scary face wasn’t all that scary, the girl had a pair of lungs on her. When everyone’s attention was on her, she took a deep breath and smiled.

“How about we sort this out like reasonable adults?” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

 

When they all ascended to the second floor, Lavellan was surprised to see more than just Varric and the Iron Bull had been up there. Next to Krem, Cassandra was sat at the table looking rather uncomfortable out of her usual armour, a pile of cards in front of her, and further down the table was Cullen. For a moment there was an awkward eye contact between Cullen and the Inquisitor, memories of that morning still quite clear in their heads, but as they both gave a small smile at each other, they soon realised all was quickly forgiven.

Varric sat at one end of the table, Cassandra on his right and Sera sat down on his left next to Cullen. Dorian quickly sat next to him and Lavellan sat at the other head of the table, leaving the only space free directly to her left. Iron Bull’s eyes swept over her as he sat down.

“By the Maker…what happened to your eyebrows?” Cassandra stared at Sera.

“Justice,” said Dorian.

“Why both of them, though?” Sera cried rubbing the smooth skin of her brow, “He only had one moustache.”

Lavellan smirked “would you rather have just one? At least now they’re symmetrical.”

“Enough with all that,” Varric talked over the sniggering of the group, “weren’t we playing cards?”

“What were you playing?” asked Dorian.

Iron Bull answered, “Wicked Grace, what else?”

“Oh!” Lavellan jumped up and down in her seat, “how do we play?”

Varric began to shuffle the cards “well, traditionally it’s a two player game, so we’ve had to change the rules slightly to add more players. You want to match as many suits as you can, and the way you play the card changes its value. When the ‘Angel of Death’ card shows up, it’s game over and everyone shows their hand.”

“Of course, the game favours those who cheat, and actually awards them for it, so really, for you; this will be no game at all,” Dorian commented.

Lavellan scowled, “what’s that supposed to mean!”

“That you’re a terrible liar,” said Varric, not looking up from the cards he was dealing.

“I am not!”

“Inquisitor, you tried to tell me you weren’t a mage, even when you struck a demon with lightning but an inch from where I was standing.”

_Shut up, Cassandra! You’re supposed to be on my side._

“Freak storm,” Lavellan muttered.

“To be fair, she wasn’t actually aiming for the demon.”

“ _Varric_!” she cried, slamming her small hand on the table, “Is this pick on the elf day or something?”

“Certainly feels like it,” Sera grumbled, receiving a dirty look from Dorian.

Lavellan slumped back in her chair, her face bright red. Weren’t they supposed to treat the Inquisitor with respect or something? She snuck a peek at Iron Bull, but he wasn’t looking at her. In fact he seemed to be trying to avoid eye contact with her completely, instead he watched Varric dealing as if it was most interesting thing in the world. Scowling she looked to Dorian who seemed to have noticed the same thing.

“So what are we playing for?” Dorian suddenly asked the group.

“Well, we could play for rounds.”

Sera wildly shook her head, “nuh, uh,” she snorted, “crazy people, thinking I can actually ‘ _pay_ ’ for things.”

“How about we trade for things?” said Krem, his eyes on the pearl handled knife at Cassandra’s belt.

“No. That is a family heirloom,” she said curtly.

“Or, forfeits for when we lose?” Dorian raised his eyebrows, “Strip Wicked Grace, anybody?”

Cassandra immediately argued against the idea, Cullen moved uncomfortably in his chair, whilst everyone else seemed to consent. Although none seemed to have thought about Lavellan, for when she smiled and said “okay!” all eyes seemed to turn to her. With both Iron Bull and Cullen right next to her, suddenly she felt cheeks glowing red, “that would be fun, I guess,” she added looking down at the table.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t –” Varric started, only for Dorian to talk over him,

“Wonderful,” he clapped his hands together, “shall we?”

 

At some point, Lavellan wasn’t sure when, drinks had arrived at the table and suddenly the game had become a lot quicker paced, a lot louder and a lot more enjoyable. Once the initial awkwardness was out of the way, even Cassandra seemed to be happy, downing the last of her drink and spreading her cards out on the table. Krem began telling them all tales of the Charger’s adventures with additions from the Iron Bull himself, although Lavellan was beginning to question their authenticity.

Pretty soon, she realised that they were right. She was terrible at the game. Not only could she not bluff for her life, but that she also lacked all common sense when picking up and discarding cards, just going for the cards she liked rather than the ones that were actually useful.

Thankfully, she wasn’t the worst at the table. Cullen was damn right awful, but luckily for him (and unfortunately for everyone else) he had a lot of layers. Sera had slipped off her shoes and her leggings, sitting in just her top and smallclothes, the Iron bull had removed the leather armour he wore over his shoulder, simply due to a terrible hand.

Lavellan had lost her fur robe, quite a while before the hand she held at that moment. And a dreadful hand it was. She took one of her knight cards and turned it upside down. Like that helped. She still didn’t understand the rules.

“Angel of Death. Show your hand,” said Cassandra, her accent a little harder to understand after she’d been drinking.

“Um,” Lavellan bit lower lip, looking over her cards at the others who were waiting for her expectantly. Show time. Quite literally.  

She lay her cards down on the table, and Dorian gave a loud laugh. Almost simultaneously both he and Sera began to chant “ _Off! Off! Off_!”

Determined to take this in her stride, Lavellan laughed and stood up. Sure it would have been easier to take off her leggings like Sera, and she’d still have been covered…but what was the point of the game? And she didn’t mean Wicked Grace.

In one fluid movement she pulled her tunic up over her head. Her breast band had been taken off quite a while before they’d even come to the tavern, and so when she looked back at her companions, all eyes were instead, on her small, pert breasts. Cassandra quickly looked away when she realised she was staring, Sera gave a wolf whistle and Cullen’s cheeks had turned the most violent shade of red she had ever seen. But she was far more interested in someone else. Iron Bull’s hands were gripping the edge of table so hard, that his knuckles had turned white. His one eye darted up from her chest, to her eyes and suddenly it was her who had to look away.

Taking her time she folded her tunic in her hands and turned around to place it over the back of her chair. There was murmuring behind her as she moved. The Vallasiln that marked her face not only spread down her arms and legs, but whilst her front was completely free from them, her back was covered in the design, curling around onto her hips and disappearing into her leggings.

“Ugh, _the things I would do to you_ , Inky,”

Lavellan sat down in her chair, “thanks, Sera” she smiled at her.

“That’s hardly appropriate!” Cassandra stuttered.

“What!” Sera looked around at them all, “come on! Like you haven’t all thought about it! Even Dorian had a dream about it once.”

“It’s true.”

“Was it good?” Lavellan asked.

“Oh yes, but I remember being disappointed about the distinct lack of penis.”

“Ah, shame. Not much I can do about that.”

Dorian laughed into his drink. Lavellan shivered slightly at the chill, very much aware of her nipples. Maybe they were aware of the sudden attention. She snorted at her own thoughts, causing her breasts to jiggle slightly. Cullen quickly looked away staring at the wood of the table.

She signed, “oh, Creator’s sake Cullen. It’s not like you didn’t seem them this morning.”

Iron Bull suddenly tensed at her side, whilst Varric looked up from the new deck he was shuffling. Cullen looked positively ill, “she was wearing her band!” he all but shouted at the group, “it was…we were…there were stairs and…”

“Sounds like you were paying an unnecessary amount of attention to them,” said Dorian.

“He can’t even form a proper sentence,” said Krem.

“Leave him alone. It was all perfectly innocent,” Lavellan said, gently touching Cullen’s arm. She looked back to Varric, “weren’t we playing cards?”

The Iron Bull cleared his throat, “yes. Let’s.”

 

 

Yet more clothes littered the floor as the game continued. Those with armour had stripped to their underclothes, with even Cassandra getting into the swing of the game. In fact the only person, who had yet to lose a single item, was Krem.

“How did you get so good at this?” Lavellan asked him as he won yet another hand, and Dorian pulled his top up over his head.

“Betting with the Chargers. You learn to bluff well when working with a Ben-Hassrath.”

Iron Bull grinned in response, clapping Krem on the shoulder, “Makes me proud.”

“Sod off, Chief.”

Lavellan was relieved that the tension had lifted from the group; everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Downstairs she could hear the music lifting as the evening drew on, the music turning faster paced and upbeat than it usually was during the day. Varric was retelling one of his stories from his time with Hawke in Kirkwall, something about a High Dragon they found in the Bone Pits. Iron Bull, had his drink in his hand, forgotten, as he listened to Varric describe the fight.

Eye’s on Varric, Lavellan kept her expression interested, as underneath the table, she slowly brushed her bare foot up The Iron Bull’s leg. His drink sloshed in his hand. It took every ounce of focus she had to keep the smile off her face, as his eye darted towards her. She didn’t look at him.

“But what was a High Dragon doing there anyway?” Lavellan asked Varric, her foot still pressed along The Iron Bull’s calf muscle.

“What are High Dragons doing anywhere? They start moving closer to settlements when there’s no food, I guess.”

When she noticed Iron Bull’s hand moving to go under the table, she quickly pulled her foot away. Downing the rest of her drink, she stood up.

“I don’t know about anyone, but I could do with a break from cards?”

The music from downstairs was creeping up the stairs, and pressing against the floorboards. She could hear the beat pumping away in her head. Apparently so could Sera. Sera grabbed Cassandra by the hands, dragging her off her chair, much to the woman’s protests. Before she could stop anything more, Sera had her moving around the floor in a jig that only Sera could understand the rhythm of. To Cassandra’s credit, she managed to keep up and not fall flat on her face.

Lavellan snorted at them both, glad to see Cassandra loose her stern exterior. She turned to look at Iron Bull, only waiting for his attention, before she looked to Krem instead.

“Care to dance?” she asked, holding a hand out towards him.

Krem hesitated but for a moment, perhaps for Bull’s benefit, before he got up from his chair and took one of her hands placing one of his own on her waist. It probably seemed a little strange, with Krem in full clothing and Lavellan in nothing but leggings and her chest completely bare. However, Krem had been holding back, dancing with her with such fervour, she could almost believe she was back dancing with the Dalish. She laughed despite herself, suddenly enjoying what was originally just supposed to antagonise Bull.

They were spinning at such speed that she couldn’t see, and the blood was rushing to her head, before she was let go and instead she was with Sera, attempting foot work she had never even seen before. Half the time she was pretty sure that Sera were purposely trying to trip her up.

The men left at the table, had carried on talking and drinking, Iron Bull holding onto the conversation as much as he could, but his attention kept falling back upon those dancing. He probably would have tried to join in if he wasn’t determined to be such a stick in the mud.

 

 

Some point later that night, Sera lay half on the table, snoring for the entire world to hear. Krem had left when Dalish had turned up, mumbling something about setting Skinner on fire…with her ‘bow’. Dorian and Cullen were having a conversation about the role of Templars in the Tevinter Imperium, although Cullen didn’t seem impressed by what he heard. Varric and Cassandra had bunched up to Lavellan’s end of the table, with Varric discussing with Iron Bull about what exactly happened with the Arishok in Kirkwall. Both of them sat on one side of the table, whilst Iron Bull and Lavellan sat on the other. Cassandra had her fan girl eyes on as she watched Varric talk about Hawke’s involvement.

“This Isabela, _she_ took the Tome of Koslun?” Iron Bull repeated.

“She was willing to let the whole city burn to keep it,” Cassandra said with disgust in her voice.

Varric sighed wearily, “It was a bartering chip for her life. If Hawke hadn’t intervened I don’t think she ever would have returned. Not that it did much good in the end.”

Lavellan listened to them with curiosity, even though she didn’t really understand the story. Sounded like a lot of Humans getting in trouble for being, well, Human. She always struggled to understand them anyway. Whenever the story slipped from her concentration, instead she found herself working at the true task hand.

They were so engrossed in what they were talking about, that it was only Iron Bull who noticed when Lavellan placed a hand on his thigh. She felt the muscle, beneath those ridiculous stripy trousers, tense even as he continued his sentence as if nothing happened. 

Damn him. So as he continued to speak, she lightly stroked her hand up his thigh, her fingers reaching inwards, ever _closer_ …and then back down towards his knee again. Still no real reaction. Perhaps her messing around earlier had made him realise exactly what she was trying to do…

This time she brushed upwards, she used her nails. Iron Bull shifted slightly in his seat.

She stroked closer and closer and then…oh. _Ah_. As her knuckles just grazed the bulge hidden beneath those baggy trousers, the Iron Bull suddenly stuttered, his drink hitting the table with force. She watched as his eyes closed for but a brief second, before he continued speaking, ignoring Cassandra and Varric’s confused looks. His other hand trapped hers on his thigh, holding it there for just a moment before he pushed her hand away.

Lavellan couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at her lips; her cheeks flushed red, her heart beating away inside her chest. Dorian was definitely right about one thing. The tease was _thrilling._

 

Cassandra carried Sera back to her room, before she went downstairs with Varric to settle the bar tab. Cullen was drooling on the table, muttering things half asleep from the amount of alcohol he had consumed. Dorian lifted one of Cullen’s arms around his shoulders and took him up the stairs, heading the shortcut back to Cullen’s office.

It was when they were both finally alone, that Iron Bull fell forward, his forehead pressing against the table.

“Are you trying to _kill_ me?” he groaned into the table. Lavellan burst into a fit of giggles finally able to release the laughter that had been threatening to escape her all night. She jumped up onto the table, next to his head, and gently brushed the back of his neck with the back of her hand, causing him to sit back upright again.

“That wasn’t exactly the intention, no,” she smiled at him innocently.

He groaned leaning back in his chair, his face in his hands. She scooted along the table until she was sitting directly in front of him.

 He lifted one of his hands to look at her, “but there _was_ intention?”

“You shouldn’t try and ignore me. I don’t take to it well.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Well, it definitely felt like it. Plus I have a certain memory of you throwing me off you this morning,” she looked up at him (even sitting on the table, she was smaller than him) and he simply stared back. Sighing she edged forwards until she could stand up, rather conveniently, between his legs, “ _you_ let Varric get to you.”

His hand twitched on the arm of his chair, “they judge me as it is.”

“Is that them talking? Or is it your idea of them?” her hands were on his thighs again, not moving.

 “Varric was right. You’re young,” when she opened her mouth to protest he shushed her with just a hand on her wrist, “you _are_ young. And you have everyone watching what you do.”

“If I were still with the Dalish, they would have married me off already. I lack experience, is that what you protest?”

“No–”

“I didn’t think so,” she edged forward into his space, dragging her finger tips with her, his hand still loosely on her wrist, “I’ve heard the way you talk. You’ve flirted with me…a lot. I know nothing would have stopped you in the past…” she trailed off, placing her hands on his shoulders.

As if despite himself, his eye fell to her breasts. He could try and act indifferent all he liked; she could see exactly what he was thinking in his eyes, all that Ben-Hassrath training seemingly forgotten. He would have jumped her a long time ago if she’d simply asked. Then he had to go and get _morals_.

“How about…” she pushed him back, a tremor of nerves running through her, whilst a thrill caused a tingle down her spine, “a compromise?” before he could answer, she climbed onto him, straddling his thighs.

His hands were already on her hips. They’d both forgotten that there were still people downstairs.

“A compromise?” his voice was rougher than it had been only a moment before, and there was a more familiar glint in his eye.

She placed a hand on his chest to keep some distance between them. Lavellan paused. She had been going to say something, but the hard muscle now under her fingertips had suddenly distracted her.

“Lavellan?”

Apparently _Boss_ was too formal for this.

She looked back up at him, “we keep clothes on. At least what clothes we still have on...and no kissing, not on the mouth. No one can judge you for me just sitting in your lap,” she gave him a small smile, looking far more courageous than she felt. Her Keeper would kill her if she knew. Perhaps that’s what made this all the better.

“And are you going to be just–”

He never finished his sentence as she moved closer to him by rolling her hips. The movement was small, but his reaction was great. His hands were no longer on her hips, but one was on the small of her back, the other on her leg, pulling her in towards him. She kept her hand on his chest between them.

She gave another roll of her hips, pressing down against him, and the hardness in his trousers. Her breath hitched at the friction, as he moved against her, clutching at her skin, her own fingers digging into his shoulders. She’d never felt anything like this before, another body underneath her, and suddenly she was wishing she hadn’t made such rules. The thin layer of her leggings seemed like too much, and she grinded against him, one hand grabbing one of his horns for leverage, as if enough wishing could make the clothing disappear.

Iron Bull’s hand twisted into her hair, and his lips were against her neck, her own not being an option. She couldn’t stop the squeak that left her at the sudden attention, and Iron Bull laughed against her, his lips moving down to her collarbone, his tongue dipping into the hollow he found there, before moving back up.

But it wasn’t enough, none of it was enough. She took the hand on her thigh and guided it instead to her breast. He seemed happy with the change, grasping her in his oversized hand, his calloused thumb brushing over her nipple, his lips still making their assault against her neck.

Once again he pulled her in closer, making her lean forward against him, his nose behind her ear, breathing into her hair, as he began to press kisses against the Vallasiln of her back, his tongue darting out and tracing the lines. 

In the corner of her mind she could hear the voices downstairs, but they didn’t seem to matter anymore. The Iron Bull was still thrusting up against her, a tremendous strength beneath his movements, but ever controlled, never forceful, reacting to her every movement. The kisses on her neck and back were slowly turning into nips, his hands on her breasts twisting ever so slightly, pulling on her nipples, pain turning into pleasure. He was reading every line her body made, listening to every catch in her breath, and creating an experience just for her.

It was all becoming too much, a warmth at her core that was growing, changing, _singing_ , when…

“ _IRON BULL_!”

They pulled away from each other with such force that Lavellan nearly toppled back off him, his hand suddenly on her back the only thing stopping her from smacking her head on her table.

Her arms covered her breasts, as if everyone hadn’t already seen them only earlier that evening when she turned to look at the top the stairs.

Cassandra stood there, her face red and almost glowing like the lyrium they found growing in every nook of Thedas. She desperately was looking anywhere but directly at them.

“Seeker,” he answered gruffly, his voice not recovered from their previous activities. To her surprise, he didn’t seem all that bothered. After his earlier reactions, she thought he would have pushed her from him the moment he heard a noise, but instead he held her to her, “we’re a little busy here.”

_Creators!_ Lavellan’s face was burning, and even if he was fine was being caught, she felt horrified, scrambling off him and running to grab her tunic that was still hanging over the back of her chair. _Really?_ Her thoughts questioned, _are you really surprised?_

“We were just–”

“I can _see_ what you were doing!” Cassandra cried.

“I thought you’d left!”

Iron Bull hadn’t moved from his chair, leaning back and very much ignoring that his erection was visible through those stupid trousers he wore. She looked at him, gesturing with her eyes, but he simply raised his eyebrows at her with a smirk.

“I’m so sorry Cassandra, I…We…” she didn’t know how to finish that sentence, so like the little coward she was she darted for the stairs that lead up to the next floor, rather than have to walk past Cassandra. She’d take the battlements if she had to. She heard Cassandra call her name behind her, but she was through the door at the top before anyone could stop her.

It didn’t help that she could hear the Iron Bull laughing as she ran.


	8. Chapter 8

She burst onto the battlement, slamming the door shut behind her, her cheeks ablaze. Turning around to look at the mountain range that surrounded Skyhold, she breathed in the cold air. She pressed the heel of her palms into her eyes as if she could erase what had just happened.

Not the Iron Bull thing. _That_ was quite alright.

But Cassandra…oh, she didn’t know how she was going to face that woman again.

Or perhaps she would never talk to her again. Yes, that seemed like a sensible option. The only time she _had_ to see her was at the War Table, and Cassandra would never bring it up in front of her advisors.

Lavellan walked along the battlement heading for the stone set of steps to take her down into the courtyard when she heard a distant noise from Cullen’s room. After what happened the day prior, a tremor of fear passed through her. Hesitantly she walked towards his door. As she got closer the noise became clearer, a rhythmic knocking and…two voices. Ignorant to what was happening; she reached for the door handle,

“ _I wouldn’t_.”

Lavellan jumped out of her skin, as Cole appeared suddenly beside her. As adorable as the kid was, his little tricks threatened to push her into an early grave.

“By the Dread Wolf! Don’t do that!”

Cole appeared taken aback by her reaction, “sorry,” he mumbled, looking down so his hat hid his eyes.

Great. Now _she_ felt bad.

“Don’t worry about it, you just scared me a little. Is Cullen alright?” she asked.

“Surprised, uncertain,” Cole tilted his head slightly, “It’s better than he could have imagined. He’s happy…I think.”

Lavellan stared at him for a moment, before she flinched away from the door, finally realising what she was hearing, “wait, _is Dorian in there_?” she whispered loudly, her eyes wide.

“I…”

“Actually, don’t answer that. We should...uh…give them some privacy?” she quickly grabbed Cole’s hand and dragged him away from the door. He let her lead him although the confused look was back.

She had never considered anything might have been happening between Dorian and the Commander. She couldn’t stop the small smile that lit up her lips. Now _that_ was a story she needed to hear later.

They were just outside the tavern, when the front door opened and Cassandra stepped out, still looking back inside, shouting at someone she couldn’t see. Lavellan had a rather accurate feeling that it was Iron Bull on the receiving end. Quickly she tugged on Cole’s arm and pulled him down the stairs to the lower part of the Courtyard. She was not going to walk past Cassandra, even if that meant taking the long route back to her quarters.

“Ellana,” Cole’s voice disrupted her thoughts as she pulled him through the night. She stopped still, letting go of his arm only just realising how awkward he would find it, her just dragging him along. It was weird to hear him same her name. Her actual name. Here, she was only ever called Inquisitor, or Herald or at the most informal, Lavellan. It made sense that he would know her by the name she called herself in her head, but still, it was strange to actually hear it spoken. She couldn’t recall one time she was called that since she left the Dalish.

“Yes?” she answered him.

“Do you miss them?”

She frowned, “What? Who?”

“Your people; you think about them.”

“The Dalish?” she began walking forward again and he quickly fell into step with her, “I do think of them, but…well surely you already know.”

“I can’t tell. The others…they’re clearer, but you… _flicker_ around the edges.”

“I flicker?”

“Your hand flickers too. Burns bright then fades to nothing. I don’t know how to help you,” she could hear the earnest in his voice. Lavellan wondered whether this was something he thought on often. What could and couldn’t he see in her thoughts? Sudden thoughts of the evening’s activities with Bull, and suddenly she was hoping he could see very little.

“You haven’t stopped helping us since you arrived, Cole. Sometimes all you need to do is be a friend.”

“A friend?” he spoke as if he’d never heard the word before.

“Yeah. Just relax a little. And don’t worry about Cullen so much;” she smiled to herself, “he’s being looked after as it is.”

“But I like helping.”

She sighed, “I know you do. But sometimes it’s good to have a little fun too; you know do something that makes you happy,”

“But I am happy.”

_Ugh. This is what you get for trying to give a pep talk to a spirit._

They stopped again outside the stables. From somewhere within the wooden building a loud snoring echoed out into the night. Blackwall, their very own Grey Warden – the man who also happened to be responsible for Lavellan’s incarceration.

They’d been in the Storm Coast, facing off bandits. Lavellan had been backed up right to the edge of the cliff, trying to make space for the others so she wouldn’t catch a blade in her side. Blackwall had been so caught up in fighting an assassin that sprung out of thin air, that he barely noticed when he swung about his shield and knocked her off the cliff. Admittedly, the cliff hadn’t been that high at all, but the sea was as icy as Vivienne’s glare, and the cold had spread through her so rapidly, that when Dorian had dragged her back out, she had been shivering, her lips near blue and a string of sneezes ricocheting through her entire body.

Blackwall swore it was an accident.

He was lucky she wasn’t a woman to hold a grudge. But getting fair was very different than getting revenge…surely?

Cole watched Lavellan curiously as she approached one of the furthest away water troughs from the entrance. Grabbing a bucket off one of the hooks, she used the base to crack the layer of ice that had already built up over the water that night. She submerged the bucket in the water and brought it back up, full to the rim.

“Give me a leg up,” she said to Cole.

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“Shh! Trust me. This is a very healthy thing to do,” she smiled sweetly; “it would certainly help me feel better.”

She was impressed by his strength, as Cole caught her foot in his hands, and pushed her up to grab onto the ledge of the second floor of the stables. Once up she reached down and Cole passed up the bucket.

“Ellana…” he said, unease in his voice.

She ignored him, the excitement too built up inside her for to care about morals. She felt more awake than she had done hours ago. It hardly seemed like the same night since… _Oh,_ she was blushing again.

She crept over to the side of the bannister and looked down at Blackwall who was fast asleep in a chair, right beneath her feet. If she’d thought about it long enough she may have realised that she was no better than Sera…but it was too late for that.

Lavellan waited until one particularly loud snore, before she dumped the freezing water down upon his head. With a scream, he jumped up from his chair, shaking the cold water from his sopping hair like some wild animal. The sight was too much, and the laughter left her like cackles, her hand gripping her side as the laughter grew painful.

“INQUISITOR!” Blackwall yelled looking up at her, water dripping into his eyes. This only made her laugh harder. She was so caught up, that she almost realised too late that he was climbing up after her. Screaming she backed away from him, only to meet the edge she had climbed up. With a short gasp, as her foot met nothing but open air, she reached out but Blackwall was still far way to help her.

She fell, the world rushing up to meet her, before she hit something solid. It cracked beneath her and she plunged into the waters of one of the water troughs below, smacking her head on the bottom and blacking out completely.


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, in hindsight, maybe it had been a bad idea. She should have just gone to bed, damn Cassandra and her judgmental eyes.

As she began to come to, she realised she was still in the water, but her back and her skull were throbbing, and just trying to open her eyes was making the world spin. She gave a small sniff, her nose feeling tickly and uncomfortable. Of course falling in ice water was the best thing to do after you’d just recovered from a cold.

It was then that she noticed that the water wasn’t icy at all. In fact it was pleasantly warm and had soaked through into her bones, although a hint of a chill still rested over her.

Confused, she peeled her eyes open. She was in a bath; her bath in fact, and not only that but she was back in her own quarters. She was completely stripped naked and a nice steam was rising from the water.

Oh and Solas happened to be sat down beside the tub. He wasn’t actually looking at her, but was sat facing away, his back resting against its side, his head visible over the edge, looking down at the book in his lap.

She gave a little squeak, and sank slightly beneath the line of the water, crossing her legs and pressing her arm over her breasts.

“Awake, I see,” he said, turning a page in his book.

She glared at the back of his head, “why am I naked?”

“You are in a bath, Lethallin.”

“I can see that! How did I get in the bath?” she hissed at him.

He made a noise beneath his breath. It took her a moment to realise he was laughing, and she had to resist the temptation to smack the back of his head.

“I was retiring for bed when Cole appeared in my room, with you in his arms. He was quite distressed, and for good reason. Not only were you frozen to the bone, but you were also unconscious.”

She was silent as she thought back on what had happened.

He spoke up again, “I’d be careful, you most likely have a concussion. You seem to have an obsession with throwing yourself in water.”

“Hey!” she instantly regretted raising her voice as her head throbbed, “I didn’t throw myself. I fell…both times!”

“Indeed.”

Groaning she let her head loll back against the back of the tub. Despite having been out of it only moments ago, she felt exhausted. It was an effort not to fall back to sleep. Hesitantly she turned her arm over in the water and admired to already blossoming bruises on the backs of her arms. She didn’t even want to think what her back looked like. She looked back at Solas. He was no longer reading, but simply looking over at the fire place, where the flames were small, but still blazing.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“It is fine; I was worried for your health. I don’t think it will do any of us good to have you locked up in Skyhold for much longer.”

She frowned, “oh. Thanks,” there was something in her voice she couldn’t quite understand, “so…it was you who undressed me then?”

“Your clothes were soaked. It was important to keep you warm. I saw little more than any of Inquisition did this night.”

Lavellan could have slipped right below the water then and just held her breath until he left the room.

“You heard about Wicked Grace…” she said quietly.

“Your night time excursions are hardly a quiet affair,” he paused for a second, “or what takes place after.”

 _Creators_ , how did he know these things! She felt sick, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of what he’d heard or because it was him who had heard it. A knot in her stomach twisted uneasily. She almost felt she should apologise, even if she had no reason to.

She desperately tried to ease the tension, “Wicked Grace got a little out of hand perhaps…but Cassandra makes more of things than they are. It was just...It’s Dorian you’ve got to watch!” she giggled.

It seemed to work as he turned his head slightly to look at her, “what do you mean?”

She covered her mouth with her hand, “don’t worry; forget I said anything.”

“Hm. I hear keeping secrets are a terrible way to deal with a concussion,” he said slyly, a little bit of his normal-self returning to him. So it was only with _her_ that he seemed to know everything.

“Is that coming from my healer, or from Solas?”

“Healer, of course,”

She smiled to herself. Reaching over the side of the bath she placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to look at her again, “I really do mean it though. Thank you. I’m surprised they haven’t tried to hand the Inquisition off to someone else. I seem to be doing little good.”

For a moment his own hand touched hers on his shoulder before dropping back down on his book, “you have a lot expected of you. You are doing much good simply by being here. There is much yet to face, you must enjoy any time off as you can. I will leave you to your rest,” he began to try to stand up, when she quickly grabbed his arm, holding him down.

“Don’t leave! Not yet…I might fall unconscious again,” she pleaded with her eyes as he met them.

“Is that so?”

“You could always read to me?” she pushed as he slowly sat back down.

“I hardly thought you would find interest in a compendium detailing the theories of Uthenera?”

“Well you thought wrong. It sounds very interesting.”

“It’s in Elvish.”

“I am Elvish, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“And your knowledge of the language is questionable at best.”

“Just read!” she cried, nudging the back of his head, and she sank back into the bath as he began to speak Elvish in that calming voice of his, “you still have paint on the back of your head you know.”

He didn’t stop reading, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already written more of these particular characters. If this is well received I will post a few more stories in the series! Thanks for Reading!


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